to have what they have not
Looked like an old man tinkerer crossing the street. His back hooked like a scythe, his old green sweater puffed up along his spine from the bones. He dragged an old suitcase made of nylon with tapestry fabric on the zippered cover. It was dirty, the streets were dirty, it’s a city.
A variety of bottles hung off the side, like you imagine a pack mule might be rigged for trekking – jute rope looped around the bottle necks and tied off to the handle so they clunked together like dumb bells with no news to toll.
He pulled on a strap and two wheels carried it along behind him. He passed out of site and I stood there thinking about money.
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